Prairie Flower

Gustave Aimard

Description

Like many of Gustave Aimard's action-packed yarns, The Prairie Flower is a study in cultural tension. Young French aristocrat Count Charles Edward de Beaulieu has banished himself from his native Europe, but his self-imposed exile in America is faring poorly, as he feels misunderstood and hopelessly out of place. Soon enough, a crisis breaks the Count out of his doldrums, and he acquits himself admirably when the chips are down.

Sujets

• Adventure (Guyana)
• Adventure

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 mai 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776535613
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER
A TALE OF THE INDIAN BORDER
* * *
GUSTAVE AIMARD
Translated by
LASCELLES WRAXALL
 
*
The Prairie Flower A Tale of the Indian Border First published in 1874 Epub ISBN 978-1-77653-561-3 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77653-562-0 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I - A Hunting Encampment Chapter II - A Trail Discovered Chapter III - The Emigrants Chapter IV - The Grizzly Bear Chapter V - The Strange Woman Chapter VI - The Defence of the Camp Chapter VII - The Indian Chief Chapter VIII - The Exile Chapter IX - The Massacre Chapter X - The Great Council Chapter XI - American Hospitality Chapter XII - The She-Wolf of the Prairies Chapter XIII - The Indian Village Chapter XIV - The Reception Chapter XV - The White Buffalo Chapter XVI - The Spy Chapter XVII - Fort Mackenzie Chapter XVIII - A Mother's Confession Chapter XIX - The Chase Chapter XX - Indian Diplomacy Chapter XXI - Mother and Daughter Chapter XXII - Ivon Chapter XXIII - The Plan of the Campaign Chapter XXIV - The Camp of the Blackfeet Chapter XXV - Before the Attack Chapter XXVI - Red Wolf Chapter XXVII - The Attack Chapter XXVIII - Conclusion Endnotes
Chapter I - A Hunting Encampment
*
America is the land of prodigies! Everything there assumes giganticproportions, which startle the imagination and confound the reason.Mountains, rivers, lakes and streams, all are carved on a sublimepattern.
There is a river of North America—not like the Danube, Rhine, orRhone, whose banks are covered with towns, plantations, and time-worncastles: whose sources and tributaries are magnificent streams, thewaters of which, confined in a narrow bed, rush onwards as if impatientto lose themselves in the ocean—but deep and silent, wide as an armof the sea, calm and severe in its grandeur, it pours majesticallyonwards, its waters augmented by innumerable streams, and lazily bathesthe banks of a thousand isles, which it has formed of its own sediment.
These isles, covered with tall thickets, exhale a sharp or deliciousperfume which the breeze bears far away. Nothing disturbs theirsolitude, save the gentle and plaintive appeal of the dove, or thehoarse and strident voice of the tiger, as it sports beneath the shade.
At certain spots, trees that have fallen through old age, or havebeen uprooted by the hurricane, collect on its waters; then, attachedby creepers and concealed by mud, these fragments of forests becomefloating islands. Young shrubs take root upon them: the petunia andnenuphar expand here and there their yellow roses; serpents, birds, andcaimans come to sport and rest on these verdurous rafts, and are withthem swallowed up in the ocean.
This river has no name! Others in the same zone are called Nebraska,Platte, Missouri; but this is simply the Mecha-Chebe the old fatherof waters, the river before all! the Mississippi in a word!
Vast and incomprehensible as is infinity, full of secret terrors, likethe Ganges and Irrawaddy, it is the type of fecundity, immensity, andeternity to the numerous Indian nations that inhabit its banks.
*
Three men were seated on the bank of the river, a little below itsconfluence with the Missouri, and were breakfasting on a slice of roastelk, while gaily chatting together.
The spot where they were seated was remarkably picturesque. The bankof the river was formed of small mounds, enamelled with flowers. Thestrangers had selected for their halt the top of the highest mound,whence the eye embraced a magnificent panorama. In the foreground,dense curtains of verdure which undulated with each breath of air: onthe islands innumerable flocks of dark-winged flamingos, perched ontheir long legs, plovers and cardinals fluttering from bough to bough,while numerous alligators lazily wallowed in the mud. Between theislands, the silvery patches of water reflected the sunbeams. In themidst of these masses of coruscating light, fishes of every descriptionsported on the surface of the water, and traced sparkling furrows.Further back, as far as the eye could reach, the tops of the trees thatbordered the prairie, and whose dark green scarcely showed upon thehorizon.
But the three men we have mentioned seemed to trouble themselves veryslightly about the natural beauties that surrounded them, as theywere fully engaged in appeasing a true hunter's appetite. Their meal,however, only lasted a few minutes, and when the last fragments hadbeen devoured, one lighted his Indian pipe, the other took a cigarfrom his pocket. They then stretched themselves on the grass, andbegan digesting with that beatitude which characterizes smokers, whilefollowing with a languid eye the clouds of bluish smoke that rose inlong spirals with each mouthful they puffed forth. As for the thirdman, he leant his back against a tree, crossed his arms, on his chest,and went to sleep most prosaically.
We will profit by this momentary repose to present these persons to ourreaders, and make them better acquainted with each other. The first wasa Canadian half-breed, of about fifty years of age, and known by thename of "Bright-eye." His life had been entirely spent on the prairieamong the Indians, all of whose tricks he was thoroughly acquaintedwith.
Like the majority of his countrymen he was very tall, more than sixfeet in height: his body was thin and angular; his limbs were knotty,but covered with muscles, hard as ropes; his bony and yellow face hada remarkable expression of frankness and joviality, and his little greyeyes sparkled with intelligence; his prominent cheekbones, his nosebent down over a wide mouth supplied with long white teeth, and hisrounded chin, made up a face which was the most singular, and, at thesame time, the most attractive that could be imagined.
His dress differed in no respect from that of the other wood rangers;that is to say, it was a strange medley of European and Indianfashions, generally adopted by all the white prairie hunters andtrappers. His weapons consisted of a knife, a pair of pistols, and anAmerican rifle, now lying on the grass, but within reach of his hand.
His companion was a man of thirty to thirty-two years of age at themost, but who appeared scarce twenty-five, tall, and well made. Hisblue eyes, limpid as a woman's, the long light curls that escapedbeneath the edge of his Panama hat, and floated in disorder on hisshoulders, the whiteness of his skin, which contrasted with the oliveand brown complexion of the hunter, were sufficient evidence that hewas not born in the hot climate of America.
In fact, this young man was a Frenchman, Charles Edward de Beaulieu,and was descended from one of the oldest families in Brittany. But,under this slightly effeminate appearance, he concealed a lion'scourage which nothing could startle or even surprise. Skilled in allbodily exercises, he was also endowed with prodigious strength, and thedelicate skin of his white and unstained hands, with their rosy nails,covered nerves of steel.
The Count's dress would reasonably have appeared extraordinary in acountry remote from civilization to anyone who had leisure to examineit. He wore a hunting jacket of green cloth, of a French cut, andbuttoned over his chest; yellow doeskin breeches, fastened by a waistbelt of varnished leather; a cartouche box, and a hunting knife in abronzed steel sheath, and with an admirably chiselled hilt: while hislegs were covered by long riding boots, coming up over the knee. Likehis companion, he had laid his rifle on the grass: this weapon, richlydamascened, must have cost an enormous sum.
The Count de Beaulieu, whose father followed the princes into exileand served them actively, first in Condé's army and then in all theRoyalist plots that were incessantly formed during the Empire, was anultra-Royalist. Left an orphan at an early age, and possessed of animmense fortune, he was nominated a lieutenant in the Gardes du Corps.After the fall of Charles X., the Count, whose career was broken up,was assailed by a fearful despondency, and an unenviable disregard forlife filled his heart. Europe became hateful to him, and he resolvedto bid it an eternal farewell. After intrusting the management of hisfortune to a confidential agent, the Count embarked for the UnitedStates.
But American life, narrow, paltry, and egotistic, was not made for him;for the young man understood the Americans no better than they didhim. His heart was ulcerated by the meanness and trickery he saw dailycommitted by the descendants of the Plymouth Brethren, so he one dayresolved to bury himself in the depths of the country, and visit thoseimmense prairies whence the first lords of the soil had been driven bythe cunning and treachery of their crafty despoilers.
The Count had brought with him from France an old servant of thefamily, whose progenitors, for many generations, had uninterruptedlyserved the Beaulieus. Before embarking, the Count imparted his plansto Ivon Kergollec, leaving him at liberty to remain behind or follow;the servant's choice was not long, he simply replied that his masterhad the right to do what he pleased without consulting him, and as itwas his duty to follow his master everywhere, he should do so. Evenwhen the Count formed the resolve of visiting the prairies, and thoughtit right to tell his servant his resolution, the answer was still thesame. Ivon was about forty-five years of age, and was a true type ofthe hardy, simple, and withal crafty